


Eros, Philia, Agape

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-19
Updated: 2008-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-15 15:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14793528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: An "alternate alternate universe" story for CJ and Danny





	1. Foreword

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: This is a story that wouldn't let me alone. I'm posting it all at once because now that it is written, it is written. I can't keep a third series alive along with \"Holding Hands on the Way Down\" and \"Fold in Gently\".

 

 

It contains some discussion of sex without getting into detail. It also contains one derogatory term for female genitalia.

 

 

You can find out more about the title of this story [ in this article from wikipedia ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_words_for_love)

 

 

This story is based on two quotes.

 

 

\"You know something, sometimes I wonder, Josh. If I had listened to you two years ago, would I be president right now? You ever wonder about that?\"

 

\"No, sir. I know it for sure.\"

 

\-- \"What Kind of Day It Has Been\", The West Wing, Season 1, Episode 22.

 

 

\"And don't you think that if somehow the situation were reversed, if you had left me a widow with two small children and I married Danny and his royalties and prizes, he would have gladly spent his money on your children?\"

 

\-- \"Fathers and Sons\", Fold in Gently

 

Not mine, never were, never will be, but they consume my soul.  


* * *

**Foreword**

_Late Friday afternoon, Middle November, early 1981; Berkeley, CA_

“That should do it for today. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy your weekend. Until next week.”

Peter Dillon closed his notebook as the students in his honors seminar (“Constitutional Law in the Early Twentieth Century”) gathered their things.

“Excuse me,” the professor called. “CJ, do you have a minute?”

As the others left the classroom, CJ walked toward her teacher, who also happened to be her advisor in the Political Science department.

“Yes, Dr. Dillon?”

“CJ, you seemed to be off in another world today; you weren’t participating to the degree that we’ve come to expect from you. Is there anything wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Just a headache. I’ve been fighting it all day.” CJ smiled at the man.

“Well, take care of yourself. We can’t have our star student feeling bad.”

CJ turned away from Dr. Dillon, keeping her smile frozen on her face. No, there’s nothing you can do to help, she thought to herself, unless you can guarantee that the home pregnancy test I’ll be taking tomorrow morning will be negative.

In the days since CJ found out that the antibiotics she had taken for her severe bout of the flu could have rendered her birth control pills ineffective and that her missed period was definitely cause for concern, the young woman had been living on the edge between desperate hope and abject terror. Finally, enough time had passed to ensure that a negative result would not be a false one, and tomorrow morning, her fate would be revealed.

As she walked out the main entrance of the classroom building, CJ’s eyes were immediately drawn to the man waiting at the foot of the steps. Paul smiled up at her as their eyes met, and, in spite of everything, CJ felt as if the pressures on her shoulders had lightened.

Paul reached for her hand as she came to the bottom of the steps; he leaned in and lightly brushed her cheek with his lips. The display of affection was discreet, but even the chaste kiss was more than Paul usually undertook outside their familiar circles – his fraternity, the Young Democrats, the rugby club circuit, her dormitory.

Over the past few days, Paul had been nothing if not wonderful. That night when they entertained CJ’s roommate and Paul’s fraternity brother, when Luke had left to take Alex back to the dorm after Luke had unknowingly shaken their world, Paul did everything he could to calm CJ’s fears.

“We’re in this together, whatever happens, whatever you want to do about whatever happens, sweetheart. There isn’t anything that the two of us can’t handle together,” he told her as he folded her into his arms.

As the intervening days crawled by, Paul gently insisted that CJ spend most of her nights with him at the apartment, even though sex was the furthest thing from her mind. Night after night, he held her in his arms as they lay in bed, caressing and soothing her into sleep.

Paul took her things and walked with her to his car. While they drove back to his apartment, CJ knew that Paul meant every word that he had said that first night, that he had repeated several times since then. If the test was negative (please God!), he would patiently wait until she felt comfortable again with intimate activity. If she was pregnant and decided to abort the baby, he would cover the expenses, go with her to the clinic, both for the initial consultation and the actual act, and be there as they tried to adjust their lives afterward. If CJ wanted to carry the baby to term and then give up the child for adoption, he would be with her through that difficult time. And should she want to keep the baby, he would willingly, even eagerly, marry her, give her a husband and their child a father.

Over the past few days, CJ had weighed her choices, and she had decided that if she were indeed pregnant, she wanted to bear the baby and keep him or her. She had come to the conclusion that while she had always considered herself pro-choice, in point of fact, she was pro-choice for everyone else; for herself, she was pro-life.

They reached the apartment that Paul had taken for himself (and for her, when she was with him) after Larry had married. Once inside, CJ decided she needed a shower. Her head and neck were indeed aching and the wet warmth would feel good.

When she returned to the living room, CJ saw that Paul had set the table for dinner. There were flowers and candles in the twilight and she could smell the _coq au vin_ that was in the crock pot. He was trying so hard to make everything nice, she thought. But like that first night about a year ago, she was nervous and anxious. She didn’t think she would be able to do justice to the meal he had prepared.

“Let’s go sit outside for a bit,” Paul said. He grabbed the afghan from the couch as he led her through the French doors of the dining alcove to the little garden that was part of the old house that had been converted into flats. There was a small stone bench, just big enough for the two of them.

“I love you, CJ,” Paul said quietly, taking her hand and bringing it to her lips.

“I know; I love you too.” CJ lifted his hand and kissed it in turn.

“But these past few days, sweetheart, I’ve come to know it with every cell of my body. Classical Greek has three words for love – _eros, philia_ , and _agape_. My love for you combines those three types and more. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to wake up with you every day, to hold you in my arms every night, to enjoy every happy day and endure every sad day with you at my side.”

Paul reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a thin white gold band with a small round diamond in a Tiffany mount. He slipped off the bench and onto one knee.

“CJ, please marry me.”

CJ’s eyes teared up and she put her right hand to her mouth, biting on the third knuckle of her index finger.

“We haven’t taken the test - ”

“Sweetheart, that test tomorrow will determine our wedding date, whether we marry over the Christmas break or whether we have the luxury of planning for our ceremony. But no matter the result, I want, more than anything else in the world, to know that you will be my wife, my best friend, my everything.

“Please?”

Her smile broke through her tears as she nodded her head up and down. Shaking, she held out her left hand and he slipped the ring on her third finger.

“I’m sorry it’s not the marquise cut you told Rosemary you liked, sweetheart, but they don’t look as nice this small.” (The stone was tiny, only a quarter carat, but the cut and color were of very high quality.) “In a few years, I’ll get you the kind of ring you deserve.”

“That’s not important, Paul,” CJ said as she reached over to kiss him. The she laughed, “You know Greek?”

“Just a few words. Introduction to Philosophy, my freshman year. Part of a well-rounded Dartmouth education,” he said as he held her head and kissed her thoroughly.

She broke the kiss and learned back in order to look into his eyes. “Let’s eat.” Suddenly, she was hungry.

That night, as Paul pulled CJ into his arms in bed, she reached up with her mouth to kiss him as she reached down to his groin with her right hand.

Paul looked into her eyes, asked the silent question, got the silent answer he wanted, and smiled.

Later, he went to the bathroom and returned with a warm wet washcloth. CJ had stopped taking her pills when they found out she might be pregnant and Paul wasn’t going to take any chances. Since he hadn’t had condoms in his nightstand for almost a year, he had protected CJ in the only way available to him.

CJ yawned into his armpit as she snuggled down into the most restful sleep she had experienced in several days.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Reeves,” he whispered into her hair.

_The next morning_

CJ and Paul held hands as they waited for the test time to expire.

“It’s ready,” CJ said with a slight sigh.

“I love you, CJ.”

She reached for the stick.

“We’re going to be parents, Paul.”

In spite of everything, he felt good. The woman he loved was carrying his child and was going to be his wife. Paul put his hand on CJ’s stomach, trying to communicate with the little bit of life that in about eight months would change their lives. I’m your father, he told the baby, and I will do everything and anything to keep you safe.

”Speaking of parents,” Paul said. “Let’s start this now.”

He handed her the phone so she could dial her father’s number, but then took the receiver from her. He held it between their heads, so they could both hear and talk, but when the phone was answered, he took the lead.

After a brief exchange of greetings, Paul got to the heart of the matter. He was honest, but not apologetic.

“Mr. Cregg, I’ve asked your daughter to marry me, and we are asking for your blessing. I would have preferred to have asked for your permission before proposing, but CJ and I are going to have a baby, and I need to protect and provide for her and for the child she is carrying.”

“I see,” Talmadge Cregg said after a few seconds of silence. “May I speak with my daughter?”

Paul glanced at CJ, but did not hand the phone to her. He needed to hear what his future father-in-law had to say.

“Daddy?”

“Claudia, is this what you want? Because if it is, then that’s wonderful. But, honey, if you aren’t sure about this marriage, I will stand with you, beside you, behind you, and I’m sure your brothers will also. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Daddy. I love him and I want this. We would have preferred to wait, probably until after next year, but -”

“Then it’s what I want for you. So, how are we going to do this?”

CJ and Paul told him of their plans.

Last night, after dinner, they had made some decisions. They felt they would find more sympathetic clergy in Berkeley than back in Dayton and would be married in California rather than in CJ’s hometown. Paul told her that they could afford three nights in Mexico and when she said they didn’t need to go away, told her that they deserved a honeymoon, no matter how short. CJ would ask her sister-in-law Gina to be her matron of honor. She would ask Alex and two other friends to be bridesmaids. If Paul’s brother Alex (“Alex and Alex, it’ll be interesting") could get away, he would be the best man. Larry, Luke, and some of the rugby guys would be groomsmen and ushers. They would ask their friends to help them prepare the food for the reception. It would be a beer, wine, sandwiches, potato salad, and cake.

“So, maybe you and Mitch can invite yourselves to Randy and Gina’s for Christmas, Daddy.”

Tal Cregg told CJ that if she and Paul wanted the ceremony to be in Berkeley, that was fine with him. But he had some money set aside for her wedding, funds her mother had asked him to reserve from her life insurance policy. There was enough for nicer reception, with a full bar and a buffet meal (“We couldn’t do filet mignon, unless it was just our family and Paul’s, but definitely a steamship round.”) and a bakery wedding cake. “And, of course, a wedding dress and veil for you, honey.”

After a few more minutes, they hung up and Paul dialed the number with the Albany area code. At first, he tried to keep the phone away from CJ, wanting to bear any initial bad reaction from his mother by himself. However, CJ insisted that she share in this call as he did in the first.

There was a bit a silence at first and then the same questions. Are you sure, son? Are you sure that you love her? You can be a good father, a responsible father, without being a husband.

“I love her, Mom and Dad. I would have done this anyway, next year. The only difference is that the ring is smaller than I wanted her to have, not that she cares.”

The next call was to Randy and Gina, to ask her to be matron of honor. CJ’s sister-in-law became their number one fan, insisting on taking over most of the planning.

Once CJ and Paul talked with the campus Newman Center chaplain and made plans for a ceremony on the Saturday evening before Christmas (and started an intense pre-Cana course), Gina booked a reception hall, a caterer, and a small orchestra. Gina’s mother volunteered to make the dresses for her daughter and the three bridesmaids, in order to save the college students some money. Then Gina arranged to take CJ and Alex shopping for CJ’s dress.

“I’m not all on board with the idea of a fancy dress,” CJ told Paul one Friday night. They were staying home that evening, studying for finals. “I mean, it’s not as if I really deserve to be wearing white lace and silk, after all.”

“Don’t say that!” Paul put down his book and grabbed hold of CJ’s hands. “God rearranged things to suit Himself, but you certainly deserve to wear the type of dress you’ve always wanted to wear, the type of dress I’ve always wanted my bride to wear. I only wish that I could have come to you untouched the way you came to me.”

“And then there would have been two of us fumbling along, not knowing what to do,” CJ laughed.

“I think we would have figured it out,” Paul laughed in return. Then his face and his voice turned serious. “You weren’t the first woman in my life and in my bed, sweetheart, but you’ll be the last and, for the rest of my life, the only one.”


	2. Eros, Philia, Agape

p> **Chapter One**

_March 5, 2004; Washington DC_

“CJ?”

Josh Lyman came into the back room of the funeral parlor. He didn’t see the woman for whom he was searching, but he did see her eldest son.

“Where’s your mother?”

“She’s lying down in the next room. She’s got a headache.”

“Mike, right? Well, she needs to come out. He’s here.”

“It’s Martin; and, as I said, my mother is lying down with a headache. These last days, shit, these past thirteen months, have been total hell for all of us, especially for her. This is the first time she’s really slept since Dad - ” the voice broke slightly “and tomorrow is going to be even worse. So if she’s resting, she’s going to stay resting until she wakes up, and your boss can just wait if he wants his photo-op.”

“Look, I know how much you’re hurting. I lost my father too, six years ago, but my boss happens to be President of the United States,” Josh said sharply.

Martin Cregg Reeves stiffened and showed that he was not about to back down. “I know very well who John Hoynes is. He’s the man who appointed my mother Secretary of Education, the reason why we moved from Berkeley to Washington, the reason why my father” again the voice broke “is being buried from a church in DC instead of from the school where he taught for fifteen years.”

“Are you saying that moving here caused your father’s cancer? I thought you were one track for Summa at Dartmouth, and you’re heading for Stanford Law, right? Surely you don’t think - ” Josh reminded himself that the young man in front of him was just that – young – and kept the derision out of his voice.

“Of course, I don’t believe that!” Martin exclaimed. “But if they had stayed in California, in Berkeley, Mom and Dad would have stayed under the radar. He and she would not have had their last days together polluted by the likes of Pat Albertson and Jerry Savannah claiming that God gave Dad cancer because he quote-unquote polluted my mother with his blackness.”

Josh Lyman, Chief of Staff to the President of the United States, sat down and ran his hand over his head, front to back.

“I despise that kind of hatred, Martin, and so does President Hoynes. But this country needed your mother’s talents, her expertise. The improvement in this nation’s public schools in the past four years is just unbelievable. And your father, God rest his soul, has done so much for the religious community in this town. Have you been out there? The Cardinal, the chief Rabbi of the biggest synagogue in town, the Episcopalian Archbishop, and the Imam of the biggest mosque are all sitting together talking about how influential your father was.”

A door opened and Claudia Cregg Reeves, looking beautiful even in grief, the black of her jacket dress setting off her height and her pale skin, came into the room.

“Josh?”

“CJ,” Josh came over and kissed her cheek. “Again, I am SO sorry.”

“Thank you. Why are you back - ”

“The President came by to pay his respects.”

“And you let me sleep?” CJ rushed over to the mirror to check her hair and makeup, to smooth down her dress.

“Mom, you were exhausted.”

“Martin! He’s the President!”

“And you are a grieving widow.”

“Why are you back here, anyway? Who’s out front?”

I had just come back to check on you right before Mr. Lyman came in. Uncle Alex and Aunt Eve are holding down the fort.”

“And your brothers and sister?”

“Aunt Gina took them out for a bit. They needed a break.”

“Okay, I’m ready. Come with me?” CJ smiled at the young man who looked so much like his father did when she and he first met, fell in love, and conceived this son.

Martin smiled back at his mother, kissed her cheek, and took her hand.

“Let’s go see the leader of the free world.”

“CJ.”

John Hoynes smiled as he put his hands on CJ’s shoulders and kissed her briefly. Cameras flashed and the President somehow managed to turn toward them while still focusing his attention on CJ.

“He was one of a kind, CJ, and I know that so much of what you are, so much of what you have to give to the rest of us, is because of his love for you, his confidence in you, his unfailing support of you.

“Take as long as you need, CJ. Come back only when you’re ready.”

“Excuse me, Mr. President.” Josh Lyman came up behind John Hoynes and then spoke in a low voice. “A photo with Imam Hamudi and Rabbi Silverstein would be a good thing, considering your plans for the peace conference next week.”

“Excuse me, CJ.” The President stepped away to join the two clergymen and the cameras flashed again. One of the priests who had accompanied the Cardinal came up to CJ and the two of them walked away from the coffin.

“Look at the bastard, Uncle Alex,” Martin said to his father’s older brother, “using Dad’s visitation for his own gain.”

“That’s what politicians do, kid. He’s not the worst of them.”

“Colonel Reeves?” Alex looked up to see the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs approaching them.

“Admiral Fitzwallace.”

Alex introduced his nephew to the man, who expressed his sympathies. Then Martin stepped away to greet someone else.

The President stepped away from the imam and the rabbi and looked around for his Education Secretary. She was nowhere to be seen, but her son was by his father’s urn.

“Martin? I need to get back to the White House. Please tell your mother that anything she needs, I’m here for her.”

Martin was well aware of the gossip about John Hoynes. Nothing had ever been proven (witness not only his election in ’98 but also his reelection last year), but the stories were widespread. John and Suzanne Hoynes had an open marriage. John and Suzanne Hoynes had a marriage in name only. Suzanne Hoynes was a closeted lesbian. The Secret Service snuck women into the White House for a) the President, b) the First Lady, or c) a three-way. No way in hell would he allow the remotest possibility of such gossip about his mother.

“President Hoynes, with all due respect, what my mother needs is to have the only man she ever loved, the only man she ever gave herself to, at her side, alive and well. And I don’t think even you can arrange that.”

Martin turned and walked away from the President. John Hoynes signaled for his COS.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Two minutes later, CJ returned to the main room to see the President and his entourage of Secret Service agents and the press corps that dogged his every step leave the funeral home.

“Excuse me, Dr. Reeves?”

She turned around. The voice belonged to a man about her age, maybe a few years older. His hair, his beard, and his mustache were red, interspersed with some gray. He had the bluest eyes. He looked vaguely familiar.

“Ma’am, I’m Danny Concannon, with the _Post_. I just wanted to express my sympathies. From what I’ve seen, from what I’ve read, your husband was a fine man.”

Danny Concannon. The senior White House reporter. Paul had commented, when they watched the press conferences, that the man seemed to be very good at his job.

“Of course, Mr. Concannon. Jeannie Madsen speaks highly of you.” Jeannie was the education reporter for the _Post_. “Thank you for your thoughts.

“Well, again, I’m sorry for your loss. I’d best get back to covering your boss.”

_Later that evening_

“I’m going to bed.”

CJ wasn’t really sleepy, but she knew that the others – Martin, Gina and Randy, Alex and Gwen – were tired and they wouldn’t go to bed while they thought she was still awake.

“Are you sure, Mom?”

CJ held her emotions in check as Martin came up and took her in his arms. He was so much like Paul and it took all of her effort to not fall into those arms as if it were her husband holding her and not her son.

So CJ kissed Martin’s cheek, exchanged embraces with the others, and headed up the stairs of the old rectory.

She opened the door of the first bedroom on the left.

Eight year old Stevie (“Steve, Mommy, I’m not a little kid anymore!”) was sprawled out on his stomach, clutching his pillow.

Nine year old Dick was lying on his side in a fetal position. Behind him, Ria was curled around his body.

CJ sighed. She was fairly sure that it was just a reaction to losing her father, but it took her back eight years, when she and Paul adopted the three little orphans whose lives had been so traumatic.

At the time, it had made good sense not to have another child for so many years after Marty was born. First of all, she had her senior year to complete and Paul had his final year of law school. When the graduate school and the Poli Sci department gave her a full tuition fellowship (plus a small stipend for books and living expenses), concentrating on getting her Ph.D. was the only logical decision.

Paul had passed the bar with (naturally) flying colors and was hired by the Dartmouth alumnus who had befriended him three years earlier. Everyone at the firm thought very highly of him and it was assumed that he was on the fast track to partnership.

Right before Christmas of her third year in graduate school, CJ had finished the first draft of her thesis and had received very encouraging responses from her advisor and the committee. The suggested changes were very manageable and she was confident that she would be able to defend her work by February. The department chair had given her “as much assurance as I can” that there would be an offer of employment for the following academic year. The relief, after six intense years of study, was heady, and CJ decided that for the next month, she would take an intellectual break. Until Groundhog Day, she would be wife and mother.

But as she reveled in her downtime, she began to sense that all was not well in her husband. It took some effort, but she persisted and, one Saturday afternoon, when they were at the winery and Gina’s mother was letting Marty help her make ravioli, the two of them took horses and rode up to the tallest hill on the estate.

“Please, darling, tell me.”

And he did.

Paul was no longer in love with the legal system. He was restless, often waking in the middle of the night.

“And when that happens, sweetheart, I think God is calling me to ministry.”

He had considered Divinity school for a while his last year at Dartmouth, had even applied to and been accepted by Yale and Union. Then he had decided that he could do more good in the courtroom than in the pulpit. But now –

“I guess it’s just buyer’s remorse, five years later,” Paul smiled at her.

Maybe, CJ told him, and maybe it was something more. Maybe he should apply to one of the members of the Theological Union. She countered all of his arguments. They could wait a while for a house. For that matter, they could move to a less expensive apartment if necessary. The starting salary for an instructor was not very high, but they wouldn’t be destitute. For one thing, the health benefits were better at Berkeley than at his law firm.

So Paul kissed her hands and told her that if he were to become a cleric, he couldn’t do it without her love and support.

After being accepted by the Pacific School of Religion, Paul spoke with the partners of the firm and tendered his resignation. The men were supportive and even offered him part-time work as a paralegal. Paul and CJ used the modest inheritance he had received from his maternal grandfather to pay off his law school loans rather than as the down payment on a house. They moved from the condo in San Francisco to a two bedroom apartment much like the one Paul had shared with Larry that first year in law school.

Three years later, CJ was an assistant professor in the Poli Sci department and Paul was a newly ordained minister, with an associate’s position in a church in Berkeley and an instructor’s slot at the Pacific School of Religion.

And after seven years of marriage, they began to experience the mystical joy that comes when a couple makes love not only for sexual satisfaction but also because they want to conceive a child.

The first time she miscarried, four months into the pregnancy, he kissed away her tears, holding in his own until he was alone with the senior minister of his church.

The second time, they cried together. He gently scolded her when she wondered if they were being punished for something they had done. (“He doesn’t work that way, sweetheart. He didn’t want this to happen anymore than you or I did.”)

The third time, he told her, with a voice raspy from sobbing, that they couldn’t put themselves through this any more, and she agreed, fresh tears from her eyes soaking into his shirt. He would get a vasectomy (“It’s easier on me, sweetheart, and easier to reverse if they find out why and how to prevent it.”). When she asked, somewhat hesitantly, if they could adopt, he smiled at her and said they could take into their hearts as many children as she wanted and the agencies would allow.

Five months later, they got the call. There were three kids, a girl of six, and two boys, fifteen months and two months. The children were mixed race, a white mother and two black fathers. (“Which is one of the reasons I thought of you,” the social worker said. “The two of you would understand.”). The mother had been married to the father of the little girl; when the child was four, the father was in the wrong place at the wrong time, waiting for a bus when the gang-banger next to him was executed in a drive-by. After that, the mother went into a mental tailspin and became addicted to the anti-depressants and other pills prescribed for her. She felt she needed a man in her life and found one who reminded her of her husband. However, the resemblance was only physical and the next man took advantage of the situation, spending the modest life insurance and the survivor benefits for his own use. He never married her, but fathered two sons with her. On the way home from the hospital after the birth of the second child, he wrecked the car, killing himself and the woman. The newborn miraculously survived, most likely because the hospital staff placed the donated state of the art infant seat in the back seat of the car and fastened the baby in it. The autopsy revealed a blood alcohol level three times the limit and traces of Percocet® in the man.

“There’s no family to speak of. The baby is fine; the mother was clean throughout the pregnancy. However, the toddler has some issues. He was born addicted and although there don’t seem to be any mental deficiencies, thank God, he is physically behind schedule for his age. Candace has her own set of problems. There are signs of sexual abuse. We can’t get her to admit it, but we think it was the boys’ father. The Department will cover the cost of psychological treatment and family counseling for five years. I realize it’s a lot to throw on you all at once,” the social worker smiled at them, “so take time to think about it. I don’t need an answer right now.”

But Paul and CJ had one right then.

For the boys, being so young, it was as if they had always been part of the family.

Candace was a different story. It took several years for her to feel secure in the Reeves family. CJ could only watch and admire as her husband patiently waited for the little girl to realize that he was nothing like the first man who had taken her birth father’s place.

She remembered the night, almost three years into the adoption, when the two of them had come into her room to say goodnight. (For the first two years, Candace had insisted on sleeping with Dick. After long sessions with the therapist, she revealed that the boys’ father had abused her when Emily was too pregnant or still in recovery. The man also began to hit the toddler when he messed his diapers and she wanted to protect her brother. It was a major step to get her to sleep in the little room that Paul and CJ had decorated with a little girl in mind.) Paul had run his finger down the bridge of the little girl’s nose. She sighed, and said, “My first daddy used to do that.”

When they left her bedroom, CJ noticed two tears on Paul’s cheek.

“She said ‘My first daddy’ just then,” Paul answered when asked.

“Darling, I’m so sorry,” CJ reached up to comfort her husband.

“I’m not upset, sweetheart. Before, she always called Morriss her ‘real daddy’. I think she means that now she thinks of me as her second daddy.”

In the next few months, she did begin to open up, especially to Paul. For one thing, they found out that she hated her name. (The boys’ father called her his “little piece of candy” and the bad memories spoiled the name for her.)

“Well, honey,” CJ said, “we’ll use your middle name.”

It turned out that “Gloria” sounded stuffy to the little girl.

“I think Gloria is pretty; it’s what the angels sang when Jesus was born,” Paul said, “but maybe it is a little stuffy for you. How about Ria?”

And for the first time, she ran to his lap and let him hold her the way she dimly remembered being held in those early years before a bullet devastated her life and that of her mother.

Paul went to all her teachers and insisted that she be called Ria. He went to the bureau of records and filed for an official name change.

Until a year ago, Ria had been a delightful young girl on the verge of becoming a delightful young lady, secure in the love and the steady guidance of two parents who loved her. Now, seeing her sleeping with her little brother, CJ hoped that losing a father for the second time in ten years would not be too traumatic for Ria.

CJ stepped in her room, stripped off her clothes, and showered. Then she slipped into one of her husband’s T-shirts.

About five months ago, CJ started buying new ones for him and stopped washing the ones he wore. She kept the used shirts in a big Ziploc ™ bag, and for the past three nights, she had been taking a shirt and wearing it to bed, putting it back in the bag in the morning, to mix with the others, to not lose the combination of scents that, for the past twenty-four years, had personified passion, authority, tenderness, caring, security, guidance, comfort, and, most of all, love.

And finally, alone in the bed that had been just right for two but was now too big for one, she gave in to the tears she had held back since she had left the bed sixteen hours earlier.

“Oh, God, Paul. Tomorrow will be even worse. How am I going to face the rest of my life without you?”


	3. Eros, Philia, Agape

**Chapter One**

_March 5, 2004; Washington DC_

“CJ?”

Josh Lyman came into the back room of the funeral parlor. He didn’t see the woman for whom he was searching, but he did see her eldest son.

“Where’s your mother?”

“She’s lying down in the next room. She’s got a headache.”

“Mike, right? Well, she needs to come out. He’s here.”

“It’s Martin; and, as I said, my mother is lying down with a headache. These last days, shit, these past thirteen months, have been total hell for all of us, especially for her. This is the first time she’s really slept since Dad - ” the voice broke slightly “and tomorrow is going to be even worse. So if she’s resting, she’s going to stay resting until she wakes up, and your boss can just wait if he wants his photo-op.”

“Look, I know how much you’re hurting. I lost my father too, six years ago, but my boss happens to be President of the United States,” Josh said sharply.

Martin Cregg Reeves stiffened and showed that he was not about to back down. “I know very well who John Hoynes is. He’s the man who appointed my mother Secretary of Education, the reason why we moved from Berkeley to Washington, the reason why my father” again the voice broke “is being buried from a church in DC instead of from the school where he taught for fifteen years.”

“Are you saying that moving here caused your father’s cancer? I thought you were on track for Summa at Dartmouth, and you’re heading for Stanford Law, right? Surely you don’t think - ” Josh reminded himself that the young man in front of him was just that – young – and kept the derision out of his voice.

“Of course, I don’t believe that!” Martin exclaimed. “But if they had stayed in California, in Berkeley, Mom and Dad would have stayed under the radar. He and she would not have had their last days together polluted by the likes of Pat Albertson and Jerry Savannah claiming that God gave Dad cancer because he quote-unquote polluted my mother with his blackness.”

Josh Lyman, Chief of Staff to the President of the United States, sat down and ran his hand over his head, front to back.

“I despise that kind of hatred, Martin, and so does President Hoynes. But this country needed your mother’s talents, her expertise. The improvement in this nation’s public schools in the past four years is just unbelievable. And your father, God rest his soul, has done so much for the religious community in this town. Have you been out there? The Cardinal, the chief Rabbi of the biggest synagogue in town, the Episcopalian Archbishop, and the Imam of the biggest mosque are all sitting together talking about how influential your father was.”

A door opened and Claudia Cregg Reeves, looking beautiful even in grief, the black of her jacket dress setting off her height and her pale skin, came into the room.

“Josh?”

“CJ,” Josh came over and kissed her cheek. “Again, I am SO sorry.”

“Thank you. Why are you back - ”

“The President came by to pay his respects.”

“And you let me sleep?” CJ rushed over to the mirror to check her hair and makeup, to smooth down her dress.

“Mom, you were exhausted.”

“Martin! He’s the President!”

“And you are a grieving widow.”

“Why are you back here, anyway? Who’s out front?”

I had just come back to check on you right before Mr. Lyman came in. Uncle Alex and Aunt Eve are holding down the fort.”

“And your brothers and sister?”

“Aunt Gina took them out for a bit. They needed a break.”

“Okay, I’m ready. Come with me?” CJ smiled at the young man who looked so much like his father did when she and he first met, fell in love, and conceived this son.

Martin smiled back at his mother, kissed her cheek, and took her hand.

“Let’s go see the leader of the free world.”

“CJ.”

John Hoynes smiled as he put his hands on CJ’s shoulders and kissed her briefly. Cameras flashed and the President somehow managed to turn toward them while still focusing his attention on CJ.

“He was one of a kind, CJ, and I know that so much of what you are, so much of what you have to give to the rest of us, is because of his love for you, his confidence in you, his unfailing support of you.

“Take as long as you need, CJ. Come back only when you’re ready.”

“Excuse me, Mr. President.” Josh Lyman came up behind John Hoynes and then spoke in a low voice. “A photo with Imam Hamudi and Rabbi Silverstein would be a good thing, considering your plans for the peace conference next week.”

“Excuse me, CJ.” The President stepped away to join the two clergymen and the cameras flashed again. One of the priests who had accompanied the Cardinal came up to CJ and the two of them walked away from the coffin.

“Look at the bastard, Uncle Alex,” Martin said to his father’s older brother, “using Dad’s visitation for his own gain.”

“That’s what politicians do, kid. He’s not the worst of them.”

“Colonel Reeves?” Alex looked up to see the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs approaching them.

“Admiral Fitzwallace.”

Alex introduced his nephew to the man, who expressed his sympathies. Then Martin stepped away to greet someone else.

The President stepped away from the imam and the rabbi and looked around for his Education Secretary. She was nowhere to be seen, but her son was by his father’s urn.

“Martin? I need to get back to the White House. Please tell your mother that anything she needs, I’m here for her.”

Martin was well aware of the gossip about John Hoynes. Nothing had ever been proven (witness not only his election in ’98 but also his reelection last year), but the stories were widespread. John and Suzanne Hoynes had an open marriage. John and Suzanne Hoynes had a marriage in name only. Suzanne Hoynes was a closeted lesbian. The Secret Service snuck women into the White House for a) the President, b) the First Lady, or c) a three-way. No way in hell would he allow the remotest possibility of such gossip about his mother.

“President Hoynes, with all due respect, what my mother needs is to have the only man she ever loved, the only man she ever gave herself to, at her side, alive and well. And I don’t think even you can arrange that.”

Martin turned and walked away from the President. John Hoynes signaled for his COS.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Two minutes later, CJ returned to the main room to see the President and his entourage of Secret Service agents and the press corps that dogged his every step leave the funeral home.

“Excuse me, Dr. Reeves?”

She turned around. The voice belonged to a man about her age, maybe a few years older. His hair, his beard, and his mustache were red, interspersed with some gray. He had the bluest eyes. He looked vaguely familiar.

“Ma’am, I’m Danny Concannon, with the _Post_. I just wanted to express my sympathies. From what I’ve seen, from what I’ve read, your husband was a fine man.”

Danny Concannon. The senior White House reporter. Paul had commented, when they watched the press conferences, that the man seemed to be very good at his job.

“Of course, Mr. Concannon. Jeannie Madsen speaks highly of you.” Jeannie was the education reporter for the _Post_. “Thank you for your thoughts.

“Well, again, I’m sorry for your loss. I’d best get back to covering your boss.”

_Later that evening_

“I’m going to bed.”

CJ wasn’t really sleepy, but she knew that the others – Martin, Gina and Randy, Alex and Eve – were tired and they wouldn’t go to bed while they thought she was still awake.

“Are you sure, Mom?”

CJ held her emotions in check as Martin came up and took her in his arms. He was so much like Paul and it took all of her effort to not fall into those arms as if it were her husband holding her and not her son.

So CJ kissed Martin’s cheek, exchanged embraces with the others, and headed up the stairs of the old rectory.

She opened the door of the first bedroom on the left.

Eight year old Stevie (“Steve, Mommy, I’m not a little kid anymore!”) was sprawled out on his stomach, clutching his pillow.

Nine year old Dick was lying on his side in a fetal position. Behind him, Ria was curled around his body.

CJ sighed. She was fairly sure that it was just a reaction to losing her father, but it took her back eight years, when she and Paul adopted the three little orphans whose lives had been so traumatic.

At the time, it had made good sense not to have another child for so many years after Marty was born. First of all, she had her senior year to complete and Paul had his final year of law school. When the graduate school and the Poli Sci department gave her a full tuition fellowship (plus a small stipend for books and living expenses), concentrating on getting her Ph.D. was the only logical decision.

Paul had passed the bar with (naturally) flying colors and was hired by the Dartmouth alumnus who had befriended him three years earlier. Everyone at the firm thought very highly of him and it was assumed that he was on the fast track to partnership.

Right before Christmas of her third year in graduate school, CJ had finished the first draft of her thesis and had received very encouraging responses from her advisor and the committee. The suggested changes were very manageable and she was confident that she would be able to defend her work by February. The department chair had given her “as much assurance as I can” that there would be an offer of employment for the following academic year. The relief, after six intense years of study, was heady, and CJ decided that for the next month, she would take an intellectual break. Until Groundhog Day, she would be wife and mother.

But as she reveled in her downtime, she began to sense that all was not well in her husband. It took some effort, but she persisted and, one Saturday afternoon, when they were at the winery and Gina’s mother was letting Marty help her make ravioli, the two of them took horses and rode up to the tallest hill on the estate.

“Please, darling, tell me.”

And he did.

Paul was no longer in love with the legal system. He was restless, often waking in the middle of the night.

“And when that happens, sweetheart, I think God is calling me to ministry.”

He had considered Divinity school for a while his last year at Dartmouth, had even applied to and been accepted by Yale and Union. Then he had decided that he could do more good in the courtroom than in the pulpit. But now –

“I guess it’s just buyer’s remorse, five years later,” Paul smiled at her.

Maybe, CJ told him, and maybe it was something more. Maybe he should apply to one of the members of the Theological Union. She countered all of his arguments. They could wait a while for a house. For that matter, they could move to a less expensive apartment if necessary. The starting salary for an instructor was not very high, but they wouldn’t be destitute. For one thing, the health benefits were better at Berkeley than at his law firm.

So Paul kissed her hands and told her that if he were to become a cleric, he couldn’t do it without her love and support.

After being accepted by the Pacific School of Religion, Paul spoke with the partners of the firm and tendered his resignation. The men were supportive and even offered him part-time work as a paralegal. Paul and CJ used the modest inheritance he had received from his maternal grandfather to pay off his law school loans rather than as the down payment on a house. They moved from the condo in San Francisco to a two bedroom apartment much like the one Paul had shared with Larry that first year in law school.

Three years later, CJ was an assistant professor in the Poli Sci department and Paul was a newly ordained minister, with an associate’s position in a church in Berkeley and an instructor’s slot at the Pacific School of Religion.

And after seven years of marriage, they began to experience the mystical joy that comes when a couple makes love not only for sexual satisfaction but also because they want to conceive a child.

The first time she miscarried, four months into the pregnancy, he kissed away her tears, holding in his own until he was alone with the senior minister of his church.

The second time, they cried together. He gently scolded her when she wondered if they were being punished for something they had done. (“He doesn’t work that way, sweetheart. He didn’t want this to happen anymore than you or I did.”)

The third time, he told her, with a voice raspy from sobbing, that they couldn’t put themselves through this any more, and she agreed, fresh tears from her eyes soaking into his shirt. He would get a vasectomy (“It’s easier on me, sweetheart, and easier to reverse if they find out why and how to prevent it.”). When she asked, somewhat hesitantly, if they could adopt, he smiled at her and said they could take into their hearts as many children as she wanted and the agencies would allow.

Five months later, they got the call. There were three kids, a girl of six, and two boys, fifteen months and two months. The children were mixed race, a white mother and two black fathers. (“Which is one of the reasons I thought of you,” the social worker said. “The two of you would understand.”). The mother had been married to the father of the little girl; when the child was four, the father was in the wrong place at the wrong time, waiting for a bus when the gang-banger next to him was executed in a drive-by. After that, the mother went into a mental tailspin and became addicted to the anti-depressants and other pills prescribed for her. She felt she needed a man in her life and found one who reminded her of her husband. However, the resemblance was only physical and the next man took advantage of the situation, spending the modest life insurance and the survivor benefits for his own use. He never married her, but fathered two sons with her. On the way home from the hospital after the birth of the second child, he wrecked the car, killing himself and the woman. The newborn miraculously survived, most likely because the hospital staff placed the donated state of the art infant seat in the back seat of the car and fastened the baby in it. The autopsy revealed a blood alcohol level three times the limit and traces of Percocet® in the man.

“There’s no family to speak of. The baby is fine; the mother was clean throughout the pregnancy. However, the toddler has some issues. He was born addicted and although there don’t seem to be any mental deficiencies, thank God, he is physically behind schedule for his age. Candace has her own set of problems. There are signs of sexual abuse. We can’t get her to admit it, but we think it was the boys’ father. The Department will cover the cost of psychological treatment and family counseling for five years. I realize it’s a lot to throw on you all at once,” the social worker smiled at them, “so take time to think about it. I don’t need an answer right now.”

But Paul and CJ had one right then.

For the boys, being so young, it was as if they had always been part of the family.

Candace was a different story. It took several years for her to feel secure in the Reeves family. CJ could only watch and admire as her husband patiently waited for the little girl to realize that he was nothing like the first man who had taken her birth father’s place.

She remembered the night, almost three years into the adoption, when the two of them had come into her room to say goodnight. (For the first two years, Candace had insisted on sleeping with Dick. After long sessions with the therapist, she revealed that the boys’ father had abused her when Emily was too pregnant or still in recovery. The man also began to hit the toddler when he messed his diapers and she wanted to protect her brother. It was a major step to get her to sleep in the little room that Paul and CJ had decorated with a little girl in mind.) Paul had run his finger down the bridge of the little girl’s nose. She sighed, and said, “My first daddy used to do that.”

When they left her bedroom, CJ noticed two tears on Paul’s cheek.

“She said ‘My first daddy’ just then,” Paul answered when asked.

“Darling, I’m so sorry,” CJ reached up to comfort her husband.

“I’m not upset, sweetheart. Before, she always called Morriss her ‘real daddy’. I think she means that now she thinks of me as her second daddy.”

In the next few months, she did begin to open up, especially to Paul. For one thing, they found out that she hated her name. (The boys’ father called her his “little piece of candy” and the bad memories spoiled the name for her.)

“Well, honey,” CJ said, “we’ll use your middle name.”

It turned out that “Gloria” sounded stuffy to the little girl.

“I think Gloria is pretty; it’s what the angels sang when Jesus was born,” Paul said, “but maybe it is a little stuffy for you. How about Ria?”

And for the first time, she ran to his lap and let him hold her the way she dimly remembered being held in those early years before a bullet devastated her life and that of her mother.

Paul went to all her teachers and insisted that she be called Ria. He went to the bureau of records and filed for an official name change.

Until a year ago, Ria had been a delightful young girl on the verge of becoming a delightful young lady, secure in the love and the steady guidance of two parents who loved her. Now, seeing her sleeping with her little brother, CJ hoped that losing a father for the second time in ten years would not be too traumatic for Ria.

CJ stepped in her room, stripped off her clothes, and showered. Then she slipped into one of her husband’s T-shirts.

About five months ago, CJ started buying new ones for him and stopped washing the ones he wore. She kept the used shirts in a big Ziploc ™ bag, and for the past three nights, she had been taking a shirt and wearing it to bed, putting it back in the bag in the morning, to mix with the others, to not lose the combination of scents that, for the past twenty-four years, had personified passion, authority, tenderness, caring, security, guidance, comfort, and, most of all, love.

And finally, alone in the bed that had been just right for two but was now too big for one, she gave in to the tears she had held back since she had left the bed sixteen hours earlier.

“Oh, God, Paul. Tomorrow will be even worse. How am I going to face the rest of my life without you?”


	4. Eros, Philia, Agape

**Chapter Two**

_Almost midnight, January 20, 2003; Washington, DC; the Independence Ball_

“Because I love you, just the way you look tonight.”

Paul crooned the words into his wife’s ear as he led her through the other couples dancing to the Guy Lombardo Orchestra.

They had started the evening at the Constitution Ball and had been to several others, dancing to music from the big band era through the golden age of rock, the disco era, and the current scene, but had decided to end the evening at this one.

Color her biased, but CJ thought, no, CJ knew, that her husband was the handsomest man in the room. His tuxedo fit him to perfection; his hair, moustache, and beard were perfectly groomed; his cologne mixed with his body chemistry to provide an aroma of confidence, masculinity, and graciousness.

CJ and Paul had both grown into their careers in Berkeley.

Paul had blended serving as an associate minister in the local Disciples of Christ church and teaching at the Pacific School of Religion with ease. Several times, he had been asked to take on an administrative position at the school, but he had always refused. He was happiest in the pulpit, in ecumenical activities, in counseling those who were facing life changes, such as engaged couples, families with children, and those facing crises where spiritual values were called into question, and, in teaching others how Christ’s salvation called them to be “servants of the servants of God”. Also, he and CJ both wanted their careers to hold third place in their lives, behind their love for each other and for their children.

CJ, however, had found that teaching was superseded by her skill for administration. In addition to managing her academic load at Berkeley and her motherly (and, of course, wifely) instincts at home, she found herself drawn to administration, to finding ways to smoothly administer the bureaucracy of an academic department while cutting through the unnecessary red tape of such an endeavor. She obtained a second PhD in administrative and educational management along the way, and, in 1994, was named Chancellor of the university, the first woman to hold that position.

In early 1998, then Senator John Hoynes of Texas contacted her, asking her advice on the educational component of his presidential platform. She gave him some of her opinions.

(“This is just me speaking, not the School of Education. We have to find some way of publicly funding education while leaving the decisions about education as locally as possible. Of course, we have to ensure that no child is made to feel excluded or uncomfortable because of race, gender, religion, or sexual preference. But in the end, the most important thing is: what is the best way for each individual child to learn. There is no single best way. I think that there should be schools which teach the “traditional method” and those which teach experimental methods. There should be schools for the learning disadvantaged, schools for the intellectually gifted, and schools where all degrees of intellect mix freely. There should be schools which are coeducational and schools where boys and girls are taught separately. Above all, we need to have, in the public school system, schools where students can learn without the distraction of problem students, while still providing for a meaningful education for those students deemed ‘problem’. I can fully understand why some parents choose to make unbelievable sacrifices to send their children to private schools. Your child’s future is tantamount. My husband and I have chosen to send our children through the public school system in Berkeley. However, we have supplemented that, at our own expense, when we felt it necessary for the individual child. And had it been in the best interests of that child, we would have sent that child to a private school with absolutely no compunction.”)

She was somewhat surprised (but Paul wasn’t) when, flush with victory, President-elect Hoynes asked her to serve her country as Secretary of Education.

Paul convinced her to take the position. He put out some feelers. Georgetown offered him one of their ecumenical positions in the School of Theology. One of the local DOC churches jumped at the chance to add him to their list of pastors.

“Madame Secretary, in that glorious gown of Dartmouth silk, you are the second most beautiful woman in the room. However, had you chosen the truer, richer green of Notre Dame, you might have outshone the Surgeon General, who, you notice, is wearing the crimson of Harvard, the institute of higher learning that granted her a medical degree.”

“Mister Vice-President.”

CJ had taken an instant liking to Josiah Bartlet, former governor of New Hampshire, and his wife Abbey when she met them a little over four years ago.

Her appointment to the cabinet had been approved in a _pro forma_ manner, probably because of two of John Hoynes’ other choices.

Everyone understood when Hoynes selected Jed Bartlet as his running mate. The man had fought a hard campaign, ending up in second place. And his economic background, including the Nobel, would be an asset to the Hoynes administration.

However, no one expected that the position of Attorney General would be offered to the New Hampshire Governor’s campaign manager, Leo McGarry.

And, in their wildest dreams, no one even considered that the Vice-president’s wife would be nominated to fill a cabinet position, no matter how qualified she was to hold it. But Abigail Barrington Bartlet, BA Wellesley, MD Harvard, was nominated Surgeon General and approved by the Senate.

Four years later, the two couples had become, if not close friends, extremely comfortable with each other.

The orchestra started playing again, and the two couples exchanged partners for the set.

On the morning of January 29, Paul told CJ that he would be later than usual that afternoon.

“When we were dancing, Abbey looked at my nail beds, and then she asked me when I had last seen a doctor. I told her it was right before we left Berkeley. After yelling at me, almost as intensely as you do, sweetheart, she gave me a name and told me to make an appointment. I knew that she would check up on me, so I decided the best plan was to go ahead and make the appointment. So I’ll see you by six.” Paul kissed her as he left for his morning classes.

The doctors were sympathetic, even apologetic. If it had been found earlier, even as little as seven months ago, the probabilities would have been much higher. Of course, they would begin an aggressive course of treatment, there were new discoveries being made every day. And prayer and faith, although not able to be quantified, were always an important part of the mix.

The initial treatments were promising and everyone was hopeful that Paul had beaten the odds. Although everyone had told him that he looked even more distinguished as a bald man, he was glad that his hair grew back even thicker than before the treatments.

In August, the cancer came back. The doctors were hopeful and Paul began another course of treatment. But CJ had her premonitions and began to prepare herself to lose the only man she had ever loved.

_Late October 2003_

It was a beautiful Indian Summer afternoon. Mitch and Allison Cregg had taken the kids with them to Annapolis; Hogan was a second stringer on Navy’s women’s soccer team.

Paul suggested a walk in the Mall and called for a cab. Sitting in the Botanical Garden, he told her that the treatments weren’t working and that it was time for him to let go.

CJ took his hands in hers and held them to her mouth. Her tears coursed down her face and onto the fingers, the thumbs, and the palms that had given her so much pleasure, so much tenderness, so much comfort, and so much security.

“I’m not sure I can exist without you, Paul.”

“You have to, sweetheart.” He reversed the position of their hands and pulled hers to his mouth. “Our children will need you. I would sacrifice everything except your love and my immortal soul to spare you this, but I can’t.”

CJ knew he was about to lose control, and she knew that his ego could not take doing that in public, so she led him to the street and they went home. They cried their hearts out and managed to present a calm appearance when her brother and sister-in-law returned with the kids.

Paul and CJ waited until Thanksgiving, when Martin came down from Hanover for the holiday, to tell anyone else.

_January 2, 2004_

“This isn’t something you should decide on emotion, CJ. And certainly not while Paul - ”.

“I know, Tim,” CJ interrupted Tim Giancomo, the Jesuit who had joined the Theology Department at Georgetown two years ago and who had become good friends with Paul and CJ, “but when or if I’m - ”.

“I’ll be there to help.” The priest reached in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see myself out. Tell Paul I’ll come by again tomorrow.”

CJ pressed her head against the study door and then turned around, planning to take the glasses from Paul’s face and cover his sleeping body with a quilt. He had dropped off in mid-sentence while discussing Tim’s Bioethics seminar for the upcoming term.

But when she turned around, Paul was awake.

“Decide what, sweetheart?” He held out a hand to her.

CJ thought fast.

“I don’t think I should stay in the Cabinet, that I should find something less - ”, her voice trailed off as she saw the sad little smile cross his face. She remembered, with total clarity, the first time she had seen it, some twenty-three years ago. It was the first (and only) time she had faked orgasm.

“I’m sure that is something you should weigh in less emotional times, but that’s not what you and Tim were discussing.”

She began to protest, but he stopped her with the same two words he had used on that night a few months after they had become intimate.

“Claudia Jean.” He gestured again with his hand. “Come.”

And she walked toward him, let him pull her onto his lap.

“It’s perfectly normal and understandable, sweetheart. When something like this happens, something that will throw your entire life into flux, it’s natural to want to return to the faith of your childhood. In fact, Tim’s _confreres_ have a phrase for it ‘Give me a child until the age of seven’. The idea doesn’t bother me, CJ, it never has. I never asked you to give up your religion for me.”

“I know.” She kissed him. “But when you told me that God was calling you, I told you that if He was calling you, He was also calling me to be beside you, to support you. If I do make that choice, it will be very low-key. I would never embarrass you, even after -”, she choked on the word.

“That was never in question, sweetheart,” Paul played with her hair and kissed her temple.

“And the children; I would continue to raise them in your church.”

“I know.”

“I should get up. You’re tired and I’m heavy.”

“Oh, CJ, my life, you could never be too heavy. I could stay here like this forever.”

_January 21, 2004_

“Dad?”

Paul looked up from his book and smiled at his eldest son.

At first, when Martin came home for the Christmas break and said that he would not be going back to Dartmouth for the winter and spring terms, Paul protested. (“You can’t. What about law school? What about graduation?”) But Martin was adamant. He had spoken with the Dean, explained the situation, and the man had given his blessing. Given the special (well, the Dean said “tragic”) circumstances, there would be no problem coming back for his final courses at a later date. And not to worry about Stanford; he would talk with them personally.

Now Paul was grateful to have Martin with him for these final weeks. There was so much he needed to impart to his children. Of course, Paul had written letters for each of the four, for the milestones he would not witness, for the turning points, for the crises. In those letters, Paul imparted the advice that could not be comprehended now, or which might, hopefully, never be needed. But Martin was different; Martin was no longer a child (but would always be Paul’s child) and so much could be communicated orally. And now, there was time; nowhere near enough time, but Paul would make do.

“I’ve got some coffee.”

Martin handed a mug to his father and sat down. The two men sipped in silence for a while, enjoying the companionship that was made more precious by the knowledge of its temporality.

“You’ve talked with Nicole?”

Two days after Christmas, Martin had mentioned that “a friend” was visiting with “her roommate in Falls Church” and asked if she could stop by “after doing the Smithsonian.”

It was obvious to both Paul and CJ that Nicole was much more than a friend, especially when Martin took Nicole to dinner and then called home to say that he “would be home in the morning”. The next day, Martin told them that he planned to ask Nicole to marry him when she finished at Dartmouth a year from June.

“This morning. Classes have started; it snowed eight inches; one of the Anthro profs got caught with kiddie porn on his computer – the usual stuff,” Martin laughed.

Then the young man’s voice turned serious.

“Dad, whenever I thought about marriage, I always imagined standing there at the altar with you in your robes, waiting to perform the ceremony. I know you will be there with me, but it will seem strange having someone else ask me to make those promises.”

“I know.” Paul reached out for his son’s hand.

“Martin, there are things I would have discussed with you as your wedding day approached, things I’ve written for you to read when the time comes. I’d even written a letter to your future bride. And a lot of that should wait until then.

“But one thing I want you share with you now, that I would share with Nicole if she were here with you, and if you had already asked and been accepted,” Paul laughed, “is the essential importance of honesty and communication. There is nothing that can’t be handled if those two things are present in the relationship. I know that right now, things might seem totally rosy, but, believe me, even in the most perfect of relationships, issues can arise.”

“Actually, there is - ”.

“There is what, son?”

“Sometimes, she doesn’t; sometimes, I can’t wait until - ,” the young man stopped and dipped his head to hide the blushing.

“A woman is a very complex being, mentally, emotionally, and physically. The bookcase over by the window,” Paul pointed to the left. Martin got up and walked to it. “The fourth shelf, about a foot in from the right, the dark green binding.”

When Martin brought the volume to his father, Paul opened it and pointed to the drawings.

“Try using your palm here.”

“At your age, recovery is fairly quick; some men will take off the edge, so to speak, beforehand.”

“Changing angles might help.”

And as a light snow began to fall and shadows lengthened, the father taught and the son listened.

_Later that evening_

“May we come in?”

Paul and CJ stood outside the door to Ria’s bedroom.

“Uh, sure,” Ria responded.

“We just came to say goodnight, honey,” CJ said. Lately, she and Paul had been going to bed fairly early; their daughter was often still up, finishing her homework.

This evening, she was leafing through the latest issue of _Newsweek_.

CJ reached down to kiss Ria, but the girl kept her head down and CJ’s lips brushed the top of her head.

Paul slipped a hand under his daughter’s chin and lifted her face. Taking in the red eyes, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Tell me,” he commanded softly.

“I got something in my eye.”

“Ria.”

The voice was still soft, but it was twinged with gentle reproof.

“Peggy Thompson. She has to go to boarding school. Her father remarried and he’s all goo-goo about her stepmother. She says it’ll be the same with Mother, when she gets married again.”

“Oh, Ria!” CJ sat down on the other side of the bed. “Honey, that’s never going to happen with you and your brothers. In the first place, your father is the only man I’ll ever love; I’ll never get married again.”

“Sweetheart,” Paul said.

Then came the shout from down the hall.

“Mommy, Stevie’s throwing up!”

CJ reached over and kissed her daughter. “You have nothing to worry about. Sleep tight. I love you.”

As CJ left to tend to her youngest son, Paul got up and closed Ria’s door.

“Okay, baby, tell me the rest of it.” He returned to the bed.

“What if it’s like the last time? What if the man Mother marries is like **him**?” She shuddered at the memory of Dick and Stevie’s father.

Paul gathered his daughter into his arms. He remembered how frightened of him she was eight years ago, how patiently he worked to win her trust. He could only pray that there had been enough time to give her the foundation she would need to someday have a healthy relationship with a man who would treat her the way he had tried to show her, by the way he treated her and by the way he treated her mother, she deserved to be treated.

“Baby, if your mother were to remarry, I know that she would be with someone who would love you children as much as he loved her. If your mother does find happiness with someone else, I want you and your brothers to be happy for her. I want you to respect that man the way you respect me.”

Paul pulled Ria closer to him and kissed her forehead. Then he pushed slightly away and looked directly into her eyes.

“But if, for some improbable reason, this man managed to deceive your mother, if he were to hurt you, or your brothers, promise me that you will go to your mother, or Martin, or your uncles and aunts.”

Forty minutes later, both Paul and CJ were back in their room, lying in bed.

“Sweetheart, we need to talk about what Ria brought up tonight. After I’m gone, I want you to be open to the idea that God may have someone else for you.” He put his fingers to her lips as she began to protest. “You are still so young, CJ, still so beautiful. And your soul is even more beautiful than your face, your body. Please don’t inter yourself in a coffin of grief for me.”

“I don’t want to look for anyone else; I can’t conceive of being with anyone else.”

“I didn’t say ‘look for’, sweetheart, I said ‘be open to’. If God has plans for you, I want you to accept those plans. If He sends another man to you, I want you to love him, honor him, and pleasure him the way you have loved, honored, and pleasured me for the past twenty-four years. If it happens, make me proud of you.”

Paul reached down and wiped away the tears that were forming in her eyes. Then he kissed her mouth.

CJ returned his kiss. His hand moved to her breast. As her legs shifted, he felt the little pill he had taken some hours earlier begin to work. Paul’s hand moved down her stomach.

“Open wide for me, sweetheart.”

She responded to his soft order, as she had the very first time he had whispered those words. And Paul put into practice the things he had imparted to Martin earlier in the day.

_January 23; 11:30 PM_

“Dad, I’ve locked up and I’m going to bed – Dad!”

Martin hurried into his parents’ bedroom at the sight of his father on the floor, trying to stand.

“I tripped on the rug, coming back from the bathroom; I just can’t get my legs under me.”

Martin put an arm around Paul’s waist. He held out his other arm for support. Paul managed to get to his feet, but then he began to fall again.

Martin instinctively slipped his other arm under his father’s knees.

CJ kissed Stevie’s forehead. The fever had broken, thank God. She went to the other bed and checked on Dick. So far, there were no signs of the virus in the older boy.

CJ walked down the hall. She was about to enter her bedroom when she stopped short. Martin was carrying Paul to their bed.

“You know, Martin, it seems like only last month that I was holding you like this, carrying you from your crib to your mother. And now - .”

Martin gently lowered his father to the bed and kissed him.

“Good night, Dad. I love you.”

Martin left the room.

In the hall bathroom, CJ turned on the water to drown the sound of her sobbing.

In the master bedroom, Paul gave into his frustrated embarrassment, pounding his fist into the pillow and weeping silently.

In his tiny room, Martin knelt on the floor beside his bed and cried to God, demanding to know why.

_March 2, 2004_

This was really happening, CJ thought to herself. Somehow, in spite of everything, she had managed to put the ultimate reality of Paul’s cancer out of her mind.

But he had worsened dramatically in the past ten days. Earlier in the day, he had been kissed and embraced by Jed and Abbey Bartlet, Tim Giancomo, Alex and Eve, Gina and Randy, and Mitch and Alison. An hour ago, he had kissed and held his children for the last time. The hospice nurse had given him something that would vanquish the pain without dulling his mind.

And now, he lay in the bed, CJ’s arms around him. She could feel the chill creeping up his body from his feet to his legs to his thighs, to his trunk.

Paul slowly turned to face her and she cried freely as she saw his eyes begin to dim. He reached up and managed to stroke her jaw with his thumb, the way he often did.

“ _eros, philia, agape,”_ Paul whispered.

His eyes brightened and he focused on something off in the distance.

“Sweetheart, our babies! They have your smile!”

Then his eyes dimmed forever.


	5. Eros, Philia, Agape

**Chapter Three**

_January 8, 2005; Georgetown University; Washington, DC_

“I’d better get going. Thank you again for listening to my ramblings.”

CJ stood up and stretched.

Tim Giancomo jumped to his feet and reached for his guest’s coat.

“I’m always here for you, CJ, as a priest and as a friend, whatever you decide. Listen, I have a book I want you to have; let me get it.”

As Tim headed toward the back of his rooms in Copley Hall, the door buzzer sounded.

“Would you get that for me, CJ? It’ll be my roommate from Notre Dame. We’re going to the UConn game.”

The redheaded man with the slightly scruffy beard started as the door was opened. When one came to the door of a Jesuit’s apartment, one did not expect to be greeted by a very tall, very attractive woman in her late forties. And when that woman was a member of the President’s cabinet, a White House reporter’s antennae were raised.

“Dr. Reeves?”

“Mr. Concannon. I didn’t know that you knew Fr. Giancomo.”

“We go way back,” Danny smiled, remembering that Tim and the DOE secretary’s husband had been good friends. He also realized that there was a veil of sadness and emptiness in the eyes that didn’t reflect the smile on the face in front of him.

“You may not remember, ma’am, I was there at the visitation. Again, I’m sorry for your loss. Are you doing okay?”

CJ did remember. She had been struck by the total sincerity that had emanated from the reporter.

“I’m managing. Tim is a big help, spiritually.”

The reporter smiled and CJ was again struck by the innate goodness she saw in his face.

“I’m sure he is. He is to me, too.”

Tim came back into the room. He handed the slim book _(“The Gift of Peace”_ by Joseph Cardinal Bernadin) to CJ and pulled on his parka.

“We’ll walk you to your car.”

At the car, CJ hugged Tim and extended her hand to the reporter.

“It was nice to see you again, Mr. Concannon.”

“Danny. It was very nice to see you again.”

“Drive safely, CJ,” Tim said as he shut the car door.

“It’s all of ten minutes,” she laughed and drove off.

But CJ didn’t go directly home. She drove over to Montrose Park, and sat in pensive reflection for some time.

It had been ten months of firsts.

The first Easter without hearing Paul preach on the glory of Christ’s resurrection.

The first Mother’s Day without being told how much he valued the child she had born him and the ones she had accepted into her heart, how much he loved and admired the way she nurtured those precious lives.

The first last day of school he wasn’t there to tell the children to enjoy the summer nights (as long as they were on the grounds of the rectory) as late as they wished, as long as they were out of bed by 8:30 the next morning.

The first birthday he wasn’t there to appreciate the handmade cards from the children (a custom started when Martin was in preschool) and “Dance of the Seven Veils” that CJ did in the privacy of their bedroom.

The first first day of school when he wasn’t there to tell them that learning was one of life’s greatest adventures.

The first anniversary of the day they met in the Berkeley Bookstore, when he wasn’t there to tell her how much he thanked God everyday that the Law School bookstore didn’t have the text he needed.

The first anniversary of the first time they surrendered themselves to each other, when he wasn’t there to make love with her with as much gentleness and wonder as he did that night.

The first anniversary of the day he asked her to marry him, when he wasn’t there to tell her how glad he was that “he had the good sense to ask, and she had the bad sense to say yes”.

The first anniversary of their marriage ceremony, when he wasn’t there to tell her again how beautiful she looked, how beautiful she still looked, when she couldn’t see his eyes glow exactly as they had on their wedding day.

Early December and the first time she felt compelled to attend a White House event. She felt so alone, so vulnerable without Paul, resplendent in formal attire at her side, easily making polite conversation with princes, potentates and party hacks.

The first Christmas without his joy in finding just the right present for everyone.

And soon, the first anniversary of that day when he left her forever (and yet would never leave her), whispering the words of love in classic Greek, and telling her of the children they had conceived in love and lost in tragedy.

Everyone had told her not to make any decisions for a year, and she hadn’t changed anything (except moving out of the rectory). Her Jewish friends had told her to give herself a year to mourn, and then to get on with the rest of her life.

In any event, she thought as she started the car and headed home, her first awful year was coming to an end.

CJ smiled at the guard at the entrance to the Naval Observatory grounds and the young man smiled in return.

In late May, the chair of the church board came to see her. The man was apologetic, embarrassed to be discussing this with her, but the new minister and his family needed a place to live. There was no immediate urgency, he hastened to assure her, but maybe, by the middle of August, would that give her enough time to find something else and vacate the rectory?

“Move in with us,” Jed Bartlet insisted, when she mentioned to the Vice-President that she needed to find a place and asked him to ask Mrs. Landingham to find out if anyone had a place to let.

“Yes, please,” Abbey insisted when CJ at first demurred. “We have the room. Ellie hardly ever comes down from Baltimore and with Zoey at South Bend, the house is empty. There’s a whole third floor. Give yourself enough time. You can stay with us as long as you like.”

“Or until January 20, 2007, whichever comes first,” Jed laughed.

So, with the help of the Bartlets, Tim, Mitch, and Allison, she packed up their things, taking some of Paul’s books (and, of course, his toiletries and the bag of laundry) with her, putting the rest into storage for the time being.

The children were adjusting and suffering at the same time.

Ria had stopped climbing into Dick’s bed right before they left the rectory. Abbey Bartlet had offered the teen-ager the third floor turret room and let Ria pick out paint and paper for it. Abbey filled the role of grandmother, a young and hip grandmother to be sure, for the girl. It was Abbey who told CJ that she needed to have the “if and when you’re going to be sexually active, this is what you need to know and do to protect yourself” talk with Ria now, before she started to date one on one. When CJ confessed to Abbey that she felt unprepared to give her daughter the practical knowledge about protection, (“Abbey, Paul and I only used condoms for three weekends. By then, I was on the pill and, except for when I was pregnant or trying to get pregnant, I was on it until we gave up and Paul had the vasectomy. I doubt I saw him put one on more than 50 times. I’m know he talked with Martin, but I certainly wasn’t part of that discussion!”), Abbey said that she could either teach CJ what she needed to know to teach Ria, or Abbey could talk with Ria, either alone or with CJ present. (“I guess you were the last generation to think of them purely in terms of preventing babies. Jed and I used them until we were married. Back in the early Sixties, they weren’t as willing to prescribe pills to coeds as they were twenty years later. I had to learn how to put them on a man when I worked in the clinics.”)

Martin had gone back to Dartmouth in September. Because of scheduling quirks, he would need one class in the spring term to complete his degree requirements, but had already been accepted at Stanford Law. Martin had also asked Nicole to marry him and she had accepted. They would be married in New Haven (Nicole’s father taught at Yale) in late August and then head out to Palo Alto, where Nicole would pursue a PhD in Biology.

The younger boys missed their father terribly, but the Vice-president reveled in the chance to be a surrogate father to sons he never had, and spent quite a bit of time with Dick and Steve. And the two boys idolized the young naval officers and seamen who worked on the Observatory grounds.

CJ knew she also had to do something about her position in the Hoynes administration. Her heart just wasn’t in it anymore. Her undersecretaries and execs were doing most of the work and it wasn’t fair to be taking the credit (and the money) without doing the work. Of course, everyone from the lowest assistant up to Josh Lyman and John Hoynes himself had told her to take her time “getting back into things”, but she knew that they wouldn’t wait forever.

_July 2005; Copley Hall, Georgetown University_

“Come in, CJ. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

Tim opened the door and ushered her into his apartment.

Tim had invited her to dinner at Marcel’s and even though he was a priest, she felt a bit guilty about being in public with him in a one-on-one situation. However, she also felt good to be dressed nicely, her hair cut, colored (discreetly), and styled, and her nails manicured. She had even splurged at the cosmetics counter and received a free makeup session.

As CJ walked into the place, Tim’s reporter friend stood up.

“Dr. Reeves.”

“Are you joining us, Mr. Concannon?” Tim hadn’t said anything about inviting anyone else.

“It’s Danny, and no, worse luck for me, I’m just leaving.”

“It’s CJ,” she said in return, thinking that he had the most beautiful smile, almost as beautiful as Paul’s, “it was nice to see you again. Perhaps some other time.”

“That would be nice.”

The phone rang in the bedroom. When Tim came back into the main room, his face had fallen. There was a terrible situation at the hospital and the chaplain on duty had fallen ill. Tim would need to cancel their plans.

CJ tried to hide her disappointment. Of course she understood; she had been in similar situations in the past.

“I was a preacher’s wife, Tim.”

“Excuse me,” Danny interjected. “You look so nice and there’s a perfectly good table at Marcel’s that would be empty tonight. Why don’t you let me take you to supper in Tim’s place?”

“Oh, Danny, would you mind?” Tim asked. “I feel so terrible.”

“Ah, Timmy, you’ve been a priest too long if you’re phrasing it that way. What happened to the Romeo of Alumni Hall? It’s not a ‘mind’, it’s a privilege. If anything at all, you should be asking CJ if **she** minds.”

Danny looked again at the woman and smiled.

In later months, CJ would wonder if there really had been a bad situation at the hospital and if the chaplain really was incapacitated, or if Tim was playing matchmaker. However, she never asked.

It was a very pleasant evening. There weren’t any awkward silences or gaps in the conversation.

It turned out that both of them were pursuing the possibility of a path back to the faith of their childhood. Tim’s role, for both of them, was mainly that of listener. On occasion, he would ask a leading question, designed to provoke more thought and searching rather than a single answer.

Danny told CJ that his main sticking point was the treatment of human love. He knew several gay couples who were far better examples of human caring that many of the male/female couples in his circles.

“The church expects them to deny the physical desire but tries to be accepting of the caring,” Danny said. “But I don’t think it can work that way.”

“The relationship encompasses _eros, philia,_ and _agape_ _._ There is no way to separate the components,” CJ said.

“Exactly,” Danny replied, somewhat surprised that the woman across the table from him knew of the concepts.

In turn, CJ was somewhat surprised that the reporter knew the three terms. Maybe there was something to be said for a Catholic higher education.

CJ told Danny that she had pretty much come to grips with the idea that there would be some things on which her conscience would have to “respectfully disagree” with the Pope and the hierarchy, but that she was pretty sure that she would start taking Communion again in the near future.

“Here’s the thing,” she said. “I told Tim that I’m not sure what to confess. I mean, I know I’ve made some mistakes, but I do know that my marriage and my children aren’t wrong. I know that when God gave Paul a vocation to ministry, He had to want me to stand by him and support him in that service. Therefore, I had to join his church and raise our children in his church. It was the only logical thing to do. Taking the pill while we finished school after Martin made perfect sense also. We wanted more children, just not right away. And then when our other babies died before they were born, it just seemed right to spare any other possible kids and ourselves.”

“And what did Tim say, if it’s not too invasive to ask?”

“That he often envied Paul having me in his life to help him bear the burden of being a servant of God’s people. Paul and I knew that Tim’s vocation was relatively late and that Tim ah, he knew what he was giving up when he answered the call to a celibate priesthood. Anyway, he said I should just say that I was sorry for everything I had done, or not done, that hurt another human being or hurt myself, and then approach God’s table and receive Him into my heart,” CJ said with a smile.

“You know, in some ways, it’s totally amazing to see the guy I roomed with back when we were at the Dome in the priesthood. I mean, Tim was by no means a saint. And in so many other ways, I can totally see him in ministry. He always was a good listener, a good sounding board. And when needed, he gave very good advice and helped in any way he could.”

“I know. He’s talking to the Poli Sci department about a position for me. I need to get out of the White House. I can’t stand the way Hoynes touch - ,” she stopped and her eyes grew wide with horror as she saw the reaction on Danny Concannon’s face and realized the profession of the man sitting at table with her.

“Please,” CJ pleaded. “Please don’t use that.”

The blue eyes now reflected hurt. “I would never. CJ, tonight I’m not a reporter, not with you. I’m just a man having supper with a fascinating woman. I’d be lying if I denied that the idea that someone would take advantage of his position and your sorrow upsets me, but I will not pursue as a reporter anything you might say in my company. I’ve enjoyed this evening very much and I’d like - ” Danny realized that he shouldn’t be so obvious so soon. “ In any event, Georgetown or any place would be lucky to have you as faculty.”

The conversation turned to other subjects.

He was thinking about devoting more time to books, to leaving the _Post_.

She was happy that Martin was marrying next month and yet sad to be losing her first baby.

“Monsieur, Madame?”

They looked up to see the head waiter. They looked around to see that the restaurant was empty, except for them and the staff. They looked at their watches to see that it was almost 12:30. Where had the evening gone?

Danny insisted on following her to the Observatory grounds.

Once inside the Vice-presidential residence, she apologized to Jed and Abbey.

“It’s no problem,” Abbey said. “I was concerned, of course, when you didn’t answer your phone – you really need to remember to charge it, CJ – so I called Fr. Giancomo. He explained the situation, so I called the restaurant. They told me that the two of you were so involved in your conversation that you didn’t even know when your water glasses or coffee cups were being refilled. Tomorrow, we’ll have to have a nice talk.”

The Second Lady and Surgeon General kissed CJ on the cheek and went upstairs.

“CJ, he **is** a White House reporter,” Jed said softly. “Please be careful.”

“Are you talking as the Vice-president or as my friend?”

“I’d like to think I’m talking as your father. I care for you, care about you. I don’t want you hurt.”

“Thank you. But it was just a dinner.”

She kissed the Vice-president’s cheek and headed up the stairs.

But it was more than just a dinner.

Five days later, he called to ask her to a concert at Wolf Trap. “This time, Tim will join us. Someone else is the backup priest.”

A week after the concert, he called again to ask her to dinner again.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll be in Connecticut that week, for Martin’s wedding.”

“Oh, well, I hope that everything goes well.”

She could hear the disappointment in his voice.

“But I’m free the week after that.”

Had she really said that? She hadn’t had to throw any signals for over twenty-five years.

“Then it will be better for the waiting.”

She would hear the joy in his voice.

By September, he was being admitted to the Observatory grounds and picking her up at the Vice-president’s Residence.

In early October, he received a phone call.

“Mr. Concannon, my name is Donna Moss. I’m Dr. Bartlet’s COS. In her role as Second Lady, I mean; there’s no way I could run her medical office. She was wondering if you might be free to have dinner with her, the Vice-president, and their houseguests on Sunday afternoon?”

_Late October; the White House_

“Dr. Reeves? He’s ready for you now.”

“Thank you, Janeane.”

CJ stood up and followed John Hoynes’ executive secretary into the Oval Office.

“CJ,” the man smiled at her and waved her to a seat. Then, dismissing Janeane with a “thank you”, he waited for the door to close.

“How are you, CJ?”

“I’m fine, Mr. President.”

“Are you, CJ?”

“Sir?”

“There’s been talk. You’ve been seen with Danny Concannon. A member of my administration with a White House reporter. CJ, you can’t.”

“He’s just a friend. A friend of a friend, really. It’s only been a couple of meals, a couple of concerts, a couple of ball games, a couple of picnics. Most of the time, we’re with Fr. Giancomo, our mutual friend, or with the Bartlets.”

“CJ,” John Hoynes got up and walked over to the wing chair where she was seated. He sat on the arm and put an arm around her shoulders. “I know it must be lonely for you. It was obvious how much you loved Paul and he loved you. And even though the two of you were circumspect in public, I’m sure that you were used to a lot of sex and that the loss of it must be hard to take. But you don’t have to go outside for it. I’m here for you that way, CJ.”

She felt a chill. Over the course of the years, other men had made attempts, from mild flirting to outright passes. But no one else other than Paul had touched her in a way that implied intimacy since the summer between her freshman and sophomore years at Berkeley.

CJ stood up, walked to the door, opened it and went up to Janeane at her desk.

“May I have a sheet of paper and a pen?”

When Janeane handed the items to CJ, she wrote in a firm hand:

“Mr. President:

“I hereby resign from the office of Secretary of Education effective immediately.”

She signed it, dated it, and handed it to the man who had followed her out of the Oval Office.

Then she turned and left the White House.

By the time she reached the Observatory grounds, she was shaking. There was no way she could have stayed in the Hoynes administration, but she was responsible for three children as well as herself. Paul’s life insurance and his retirement accounts might cover the cost of college, and she owned the house back in Berkeley free and clear, but social security survivor benefits for the four of them would not go very far. Jed and Abbey had assured her of shelter, but would they stand up to any pressure from the President?

The news of her resignation had flown around the District and within an hour, Jed and Abbey Bartlet had both come home to be with her. Abbey had sent a car to pick up the kids at their schools.

She told them what had happened.

“Maybe it wasn’t what I thought. I’ve been out of circulation for so long.”

“It was exactly what you thought, CJ,” Abbey said coldly.

“I’ll never understand how Suzanne puts up with him,” Jed mused.

“Jed, he can be very charming, very persuasive. He’s extremely intelligent, extremely competent. He’s done a lot of good,” Abbey replied. “But at times, he can be a total ass, a total snake.”

“Don’t worry about anything, CJ,” the Vice-president said. “You’ve got a home here as long as we do.”

“And, if necessary, after that, you can come to Manchester,” Abbey added.

The phone rang and Abbey answered it, listened, and then covered the mouthpiece.

“It’s the front gate. Danny would like to see you.” Then, as CJ’s head nodded up and down, Abbey spoke into the phone.

“Please let him through.”

Ten minutes later, CJ was retelling the tale.

“Can he hurt you at the _Post_?”

“Maybe. But, maybe it’s time for me to quit and start writing. My publisher says that Admiral Fitzwallace wants me to help write his biography.”

“Ghostwrite or credited?” CJ asked.

“Credited. He’s not the type to pretend he wrote it all himself. You know, CJ, the more I think about it, the more I’m glad it happened. Not that he upset you,” Danny added hastily, “but at least now I can see you openly. That is, assuming you want to see me.”

Danny smiled his smile and CJ realized that she did want to see him. For the first time in twenty-five years, she experienced the little jolt of happiness that comes when you first realize that the man with you is someone special.


	6. Eros, Philia, Agape

**Chapter Four**

_February 11, 2006; Benefit Dinner-Dance, Notre Dame Club of Washington, DC_

“My funny valentine, sweet comic valentine”

Danny Concannon guided CJ Reeves around the dance floor. He held her right hand in his left, close to his heart. CJ shifted her head and Danny pulled the hand to his lips. CJ smiled and moved her head closer to Danny’s neck. And Danny smiled.

In the three months since CJ had resigned from the Hoynes administration, Danny and CJ had become much closer with each other.

They were seen together in public several times a week. Often, they were by themselves, but often they were joined by the Vice-president and Dr. Bartlet. Also, they were often joined by Ria, Dick, and Steve Reeves. A picture of the five of them at a Hoyas game, captioned “A New Daddy?”, made the tabloids.

John Hoynes was smart enough not to raise the issue of CJ and the children living with the Bartlets, but at least one Republican thought it wise to raise it. The Vice-president responded as soon as his Press Secretary could call a conference.

“I find it very interesting and very telling that the leader of the party that claims to be the party of family values, the party of Christian values, wants me to cast out into the cold of December an unemployed widow and her three young children.”

The rest of the Republican party couldn’t back peddle from Haffley fast enough. Max Lobell announced that he took Jed Bartlet at his word that “any marginal expenses caused by the presence of Mrs. Reeves and her children are paid from Bartlet personal funds”.

The religious community, for the most part, followed suit. (Although one ultra-right wing preacher, skilled at parsing scripture to support anything he wanted to say, used the Bible to opine that the Bartlets should leave CJ and the children to the care of Paul’s brother.)

All in all, the issue was viewed as a plus for Jed Bartlet’s attempt to succeed John Hoynes as President.

Still, CJ felt as if she should look for a place for herself and the children. The house in Berkeley was paid for, thanks to Paul insisting that they both carry term life policies specifically for that purpose, so the rent checks she received every month were income free and clear. (She was starting to think that when the current lease was up, at the end of the academic year, she should sell the house.) Jed and Abbey argued with her, and convinced her to wait until spring, using the argument that possibly uprooting the children in the middle of the school year, on top of everything else they had been through, would be a big mistake.

Inevitably, there were rumors about why CJ resigned so precipitously. They ranged from something approaching the truth to CJ making a pass at the President and threatening him with exposure. There was even one theory that Hoynes caught CJ and his wife Suzanne in bed together. After several weeks of “no comments” by all involved, the rumors died down.

The White House did put some pressure on the _Post_ and Danny was moved to the editorial board. His Op-Ed piece was published once a week. When offered for syndication, it was picked up by forty-five other papers. Right before Christmas, Danny did sign a contract to work with Percy Fitzwallace.

The Political Science department at Georgetown offered CJ a full professorship for the 2006-07 academic year, when a current faculty member would be retiring. Between staying with the Bartlets, the survivor benefits and the income from the house in California, she could cover most of their expenses. Only the cost of the health insurance policy she would need until September would have to come from savings.

Dick, Steve, and Danny built up an easy relationship rather quickly. Ria was polite and respectful to Danny, but remained distant. When a bewildered and somewhat hurt Danny expressed his feelings to CJ, she told him in confidence of her daughter’s background. (“It took Paul almost three years to win her trust.)

Danny called over to Ireland, to his sister Erin and asked if she, Robin, and their two teenaged daughters could come for a visit over Christmas. It was only natural that the MacDonalds spend some time with the Reeves. After seeing the way that Danny acted with Fiona and Aisling, and how the girls loved, played, and respected their uncle, Ria began to realize that maybe Dick and Steve’s father was the exception rather than the norm.

The Bartlets had of course invited CJ and the children to come to the farm in New Hampshire for the holidays, but CJ decided that she would rather have a nuclear family Christmas. (Martin and Nicole had come back East for a few days after Christmas; by staying in Palo Alto for Christmas itself, they avoided, for this year, deciding whose family got the benefit of their presence for the holiday.)

The night before the young couple was due to go up to New Haven, Martin came to his mother’s bedroom door.

“Dad would be happy for you.”

“Martin, you’re reading too much into - ”.

“Mom.”

CJ remembered the many times Paul had said “Sweetheart” or “CJ” (and the three times he had said “Claudia Jean”) in that same tone, with the same smile.

“I don’t know,” she said in a whisper. “I just don’t know if I - ”.

“Trust in God and follow your heart.”

Martin kissed his mother and went back to his wife.

CJ sat for a while, remembering how Paul had talked to her about being open to another love in her life. (“If it happens, sweetheart, go to him completely. Remember me, love me, but do not bring me into your relationship with him. It would dishonor me as much as it would dishonor him.”)

So CJ reached into her dresser and pulled out the Ziploc™ bag that held the last of Paul’s T-shirts. Unzipping it, she raised it to her face and took in the aroma of her departed husband.

Then she looked down at her left hand. No matter how many times Paul had asked, she had never wanted a larger diamond to replace the little ring he had given her the night before they found out she was carrying Martin or the plain band he had put on her finger several weeks later. Except for the last days of her pregnancy, and to clean the diamond, the rings had never been off her hand since then. With a little bit of effort, she pulled on the two bands and dropped them into the bag with the shirt.

So, on this Saturday before Valentine’s Day, CJ followed her son’s advice and when Danny Concannon kissed her fingers, she followed her heart and kissed his.

The band finished with “Good Night Ladies”. Danny collected their coats and helped CJ across the icy parking lot. After he started the car, Danny turned to the woman sitting beside him.

“Come home with me tonight,” he softly asked.

“Okay,” she softly answered.

Once inside his townhouse, he took her coat.

“I need to call Abbey, let her know.” She pulled her cell from her purse.

After the phone call, CJ turned to Danny and smiled slightly.

Danny put a hand to either side of her face and gently kissed her lips, sucking them into his mouth. Then he kissed her eyes and her nose before returning again to her mouth.

Danny took CJ’s right hand in his left. He looked toward the bedroom and then back at her.

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

When they reached the bedroom, Danny stopped to put the package of condoms on the nightstand. Earlier, when he stopped at the convenient store and told her he would “be back in a minute”, she at first didn’t understand what was so important at this time of night. When Danny returned to the car, she blushed when she saw the writing on the box inside the bag.

“CJ,” Danny murmured into her hair as he took her in his arms again. Over and over and over, he whispered her name as his hand caressed her face and neck.

Later, after the first time, she lay in Danny’s bed, thinking of the turn her life had taken. Almost absently, she reflected that it seemed odd that the skin tone of the arm that draped across her midriff matched the skin tone of said midriff. Then she remembered what Paul had told her. The best way, the only way, to honor both her husband and the new man in her life was to keep Paul out of Danny’s bed. She looked over at the man lying beside her and smiled.

_Late March, 2006_

“Mommy, how come Danny didn’t come to my party?” Steve asked.

“He had to take a trip to California for his book, honey. But wasn’t it nice of him to get you a football signed by Jerome Bettis?”

_At the same time, Palo Alto, CA_

Danny took a sip of his wine and then looked directly at Martin Reeves.

“I spin words into magic for a living, but I’m not sure how to say this other than simply and plainly. I love your mother very much and I intend to ask her to marry me. I will take care of her, your sister, and your brothers. I have no wish to replace your father or erase his memory, but I do want to give her and them the security he gave them and would have continued to give them had God not take him from all of you.

“I know that you are a man in your own right and that your father has raised you well. I hope that if your mother says yes, you will give us your blessing.”

Martin smiled and extended his hands to Danny.

“Thank you. For myself, and for my father.” Then Martin laughed. “Do you intend to ask all four of us first?”

“I’ll ask them, after, right after,” Danny laughed in return.

_March 25, 2006; mid-afternoon_

“More coffee, Monsieur?”

Danny looked at CJ, who nodded yes.

“Yes, please, for both the lady and me.”

After the waiter left them, Danny looked around the small enclosed porch. Although there other patrons in the other rooms of the old townhouse turned French restaurant, the two of them were alone in this particular alcove.

Danny coughed, cleared his throat, and coughed again.

“CJ?”

“Yes, Danny?” She wondered at his nervousness. It was so out of character for him.

But then the whole day was a bit out of the ordinary. When Danny asked her for the afternoon and evening, he surprised her by saying that he wanted to take her to lunch but spend the evening with the children (“and the Bartlets, if they’re at home”) just hanging out, watching videos and snacking.

“I love you, CJ. I love your children. I had come to doubt that I would ever love anyone the way I love you, but now you have brought joy, contentment, and peace to my life.”

He opened his right hand, and she saw the emerald-cut diamond, flanked by baguettes, set in platinum.

“Will you marry me?”

And once again, CJ opened her heart to God and said yes.

They went back to Danny’s townhouse to seal their commitment to each other before returning to the Observatory.

That evening, they told the children. The boys cheered and high-fived their future stepfather. Ria was more circumspect but told CJ and Danny that she hoped that they would be truly happy together.

Danny held the sixteen-year old by her shoulders and lightly kissed her forehead.

“I’m not trying to take your father’s place, either of your fathers’ places, in your heart. But I promise to be here for you and to try to help you the way they would have done had they lived. I hope to prove to you that you can trust me that way you trusted them.”

_May 27, 2006; Dahlgren Chapel of the Sacred Heart, Georgetown University, Washington, DC_

“I, Claudia Jean, take you, Daniel Michael, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

Thirty minutes earlier, CJ, surrounded by her children and her daughter-in-law, had walked down the aisle of the chapel to the altar where Danny stood, with Erin, Robin, Fiona, Aisling, and Tim.

The wedding was small and somewhat low-key, given their ages and the fact that CJ had been married before. However, she did wear a creamy ivory tea-length dress covered in lace and the women and girls wore mid-calf dresses in spring shades of pink, green, violet, blue, and yellow. The men and boys were in inky black tuxes. And, of course, the service was a full nuptial Mass.

Only the fact that her children could not take Communion marred the perfection of the day for CJ. Tim would have been perfectly fine with it (“This is the archdiocese of Washington, not the diocese of Arlington”) but since Jed and Abbey were in attendance, CJ did not want to cause any controversy that might affect Jed’s chances in November.

After much searching, CJ and Danny finally had a perfect house for the five of them. They wanted a place with some land (“not too much, I’m not a big fan of mowing”), but they wanted to avoid northern Virginia and its extremely conservative bishop. The house they found, between the Georgetown campus and the river, had five bedrooms and three baths. The main floor had a small formal parlor, a small den, a living room, a dining room, and a large kitchen with a sun porch. The full-sized attic could be used as a playroom. There was a lawn in the rear of the property – big enough for the dog that Danny wanted – and a small patch of grass between the house and the sidewalk. There were front and back staircases, which thoroughly amazed the boys. Danny’s savings covered almost 35 percent of the cost and they signed a mortgage with no pre-payment penalties for the balance. CJ notified her tenants in Berkeley that the house would be sold after the current lease expired. (Danny wanted the money to be set aside for the children’s college funds; CJ wanted to use the proceeds to pay off the mortgage. They compromised on a fifty-fifty split. They calculated that they could pay the balance of the mortgage in five years.)

So after two weeks in Scotland at a small cottage owned by Robin MacDonald’s extended family (“a ‘wee castle’, as my great-aunt Sorcha would say”), CJ and Danny returned to Washington to begin their lives together.

_Late October, 2006_

Ria Reeves slipped her key into the front door and carefully opened it. She eased the door back into place and carefully set the dead bolt. Then she softly walked down the hall toward the kitchen and the back stairs, carrying her shoes in her hand.

As she passed the dining room, the light snapped on.

“It’s one-thirty in the morning, Ria. What are you doing sneaking out on a school night?”

Ria turned around to face her mother and her step-father.

Danny watched as CJ and Ria sparred back and forth with questions and incomplete answers. In the past five months, he had gradually assumed a more independent parental role in the lives of Dick and Steve, having discussions and handing out groundings and suspension of privileges when (rather infrequently) necessary. However, with Ria, he had so far held back and let CJ handle the issues that were beginning to increase in frequency, while making sure that the girl understood that his intent to win her trust did not mean that she could play him against her mother.

With the move to a new neighborhood and a new school, Ria was having a hard time adjusting and had succumbed to some peer pressure by a group of girls with too much time and too much money on their hands. Her grades were still good, but her attitude was slipping from normal teenage feeling one’s independence to the edge of disrespect.

“Look, Ria, it’s late, I’m tired, I’m feeling off kilter. I really don’t need you adding to my concerns.”

“Well, you idiot cunt, then stop being concerned and let me be.”

CJ gasped and raised her hand to her mouth. Danny counted to ten.

“Ria, go into the den and wait for me.”

By this time, the girl’s face had begun to show signs of remorse and shame. The iciness in Danny’s voice caused fear to be added to her visage.

“Mommy, I’m sorry.”

“She hasn’t called me ‘Mommy’ in over three years,” CJ said softly, as if to herself.

“Ria, the den.”

Five minutes later, after Danny had wiped away CJ’s tears and assured her that he would be able to deal with Ria, he entered the den to find the girl pacing the floor.

“I really am sorry, Danny,” she whispered.

“I’m sure you are.”

He sat on the love seat and gestured to the chair across from him.

“Do you realize how horrible it was for you to use that word to your mother? Even when used to denote the part of the body it denotes, it’s a horrible, ugly, evil word. When you use that word to denote your mother, to denote any woman, you reduce her to a means of sexual activity.

“Your mother has told me about the horrible things that were done to you when you were a little girl, and, Ria sweetheart, I am so sorry that you had to suffer those things.

“But I know that your mother and your father, by their lives together, presented a perfect example of what love between a husband and a wife should be. I know that your birth mother and your birth father loved each other in that way and that their sexual relationship gave you life. I hope that as the years go by, that your mother and I would also be an example of all the aspects of love that exist in a marriage. I hope that, when you are old enough, you will find a man with whom you can have that love in all its complexity.

“Do you understand how much you have defiled both your mothers, both your fathers, by using that word?”

Ria nodded her head up and down.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, how much money do you have?”

“I’m not - ”.

“Ria.”

“Maybe forty-five dollars,” Ria said.

“I’ll pick you up after school tomorrow. We’ll go out to Tyson’s Seven Corners and find something.” CJ had told Danny about Paul’s policy about using tort law concepts for disciplinary purposes.

“Okay,” Ria smiled.

“Now,” Danny said, “about the punitive part. I’m new at this. How many weeks would your father have given you?”

“I don’t - ,” again Ria hesitated.

“Ria!” This time, there was exasperation in Danny’s voice.

“I’m not trying to snow you, Danny,” Ria said. She looked down at her hands, then got up and walked around, as if she were struggling with something. Then she straightened her shoulders and turned to face her stepfather.

“I may have crossed the line.”

“Crossed the line?”

“When Dick was five, he tore up our neighbor’s flower garden. Mrs. Green had told my father about Dick throwing a firecracker at a cat. When Daddy asked about the flowers, Dick denied it twice before admitting to it. Then Daddy told Martin to take Steve and me to the park.

“When we got to the park, Martin told us that Daddy was probably going to spank Dick. Martin told us that lying about something was just about the only thing that Daddy would spank us for, and that no matter how bad we thought something we did was, we should never lie about doing it., that Mother and Daddy would love us, no matter what we did.

“So Steve says ‘So he never spanked you for anything else?’ and Martin said that he was spanked one other time, for calling our mother a bitch. ‘Dad told me that I had crossed the line,’ Martin said. Martin said that there might be other things that crossed the line, but that they would have to be very, very bad things.

“I think I crossed the line,” Ria finished. She walked up to Danny and stood by his left thigh.

Oh my God, Danny thought. She’s waiting for me to tell her to kneel down beside me. Everything – her age, the tenuous newness of his relationship with her, her childhood experiences, his personal childhood experiences – said no. Only the fact that Paul would have done it said yes.

“Ria, I would never criticize your father, but he and I are two different people. For the next three weeks, you are restricted from watching television, other than for news, from using your computer, other than for school work, from using your phone, other than for emergencies, and from being with your friends, other than at school. I am going to talk with your mother, and we are going to find something worthwhile for you to do on the next three Saturdays – a soup kitchen, a nursing home, that kind of thing.

“I also think that you should find some extra-curricular activity, something where you might meet some better friends, to occupy your time.”

“Okay. Thank you, Danny.” She reached down and hugged him.

It only felt natural for Danny to pull her onto his lap and hug her back.

A week later, Danny was in his study working on his column when there was a knock. He looked up to see Ria in the doorway.

“I’ve signed up for the school paper.”

_Mid-November_

“Mix in a little A-1 ™ Sauce; it gives it some juiciness and hides the blandness of the ground turkey your mother insists we use.”

Danny was showing Steve how to make meatloaf. Dick was peeling potatoes. Ria was upstairs working on an article for the student paper.

The back door opened.

“Hi there, babe, how did it - ” Danny stopped in mid-sentence as he caught the distressed look on CJ’s face before she quickly smiled and greeted everyone with a cheery “I’m home!”

“Guys, why don’t you take Brendan for a walk before dinner?” (The black newfie puppy jumped up at the word “walk”.)

“Honey, what is it?” Danny said as CJ plopped down on the chair beside him. She had been out of sorts, physically, for a month now and had seen her doctor this afternoon.

“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, wow! A baby, honey, that’s – not something you want?” Danny’s voice went from joy to confusion as he watched her face.

“Oh, Danny, I would want it so much! But, my history. I lost three babies by the fourth month, after Martin. If I had any idea that I could still conceive, I would have – I’m so afraid!”

Danny grabbed her hands. “Are you saying you would rather kill it now than lose it later?”

“No, never! I’m just saying that I’m so scared.”

“That was more than ten years ago. Things may have changed. Let’s call Abbey. We’ll do this together, as much as possible,” Danny laughed when CJ gave him what he had come to know as “the look”. “So, when?”

“With God’s grace, I’ll be giving you the mother of all first anniversary presents.”

They went to the specialist Abbey recommended. The woman said that she could find no reason why CJ hadn’t been able to carry her other children to term.

“We’ll just watch you very, very carefully.”

**Epilog**

_Mid-June, 2007_

Once again, they were gathered in Dahlgren Chapel of the Sacred Heart. Fiona and Aisling MacDonald each held a redheaded, blue eyed infant, clothed only in a diaper. Martin Reeves, serving as godfather for both twins, stood between the two Irish sisters.

Tim Giancomo reached for the child in Fiona’s arms and lowered him into the warm waters of the font.

“Padraic Talmadge, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

Fee wrapped the namesake of two grandfathers in a towel as Tim took the other child from Ash.

“Paula Kathleen, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

CJ Cregg Reeves Concannon looked up at the sunlight that streamed through the stain-glassed window and sent a prayer heavenward.

“Darling, for you and for him, _eros, philia,_ and _agape_ always.”


End file.
